Frozen
by bizmiard
Summary: After Arthur's death, Merlin was no longer seen around Camelot. Ageless and timeless, he somehow finds himself involved in the Tri-wizard Tournament held at Hogwarts. The magic within him, however, knows he is not needed here, but nearly 1000 years in the future, watching over a raven haired child- Harry Potter.


Chapter 1- Preparations

Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter or Merlin. This disclaimer applies to this chapter and every future chapter written of this story.

Post Date- 7/13

A few plot points readers should be made aware of regarding timeline and character- Merlin and Arthur as they existed before the death of Uther are living in approximately 800 CE. Arthur's death to Mordred takes place 20 years after. The founding of Hogwarts begins pre- 990 CE, and the first class enters at this point. There are no set pairings in this story, but I'll keep my mind open to both story development and reviewer suggestions. If any elements of plot directly conflict with established legend, please let me know in a review, but realize I may decide to keep it because it works better for the story. Finally, thank you for taking the time to read this :)

**Merlin's POV, 872 CE**

I am old, this I know. I should feel it in my bones as well as my heart, but strangely this is not the case. It seems like just yesterday that I watched Arthur perish on the fields of Camlann. Certainly the guilty nightmares I suffer keep the memory fresh, but that can't be all there is to it.

As usual, Kilgharrah's words of advice are cryptic, almost nonsensical. Worse yet, they are not full of hope in my destiny, or even harsh reprimands for my actions. No, there is nothing left between me and Kilgharrah but disappointment.

_You have failed in your destiny, young warlock. There is no power left on this Earth, not even the Old Magic, that can bring Arthur back from Avalon, where he now rests. I feel you shall not see him there for some time yet, though..._

Not that I knew what he meant at the time. But it is true, since then I haven't aged- and believe me it is a curse not a blessing. I am a dead man in the land of the living, as even my body cannot foster life. No more does my hair grow, no more do I need nourishment, and no more can I bring forth children into this world.

And still, though I seem dead, I cannot pass on. I have lost my purpose here, but the Magic within me holds me servile in its own purpose. For apparently, I will be needed. Not now, not for ages yet- but the time will come, eventually.

**998 CE**

"It's curious," thought Merlin with a long-suffering sigh, "how perverted immortality truly is. Sure there's losing my friends, family, and everyone I knew in Camalot. That's the part everyone knows about, and I can deal with it the same as any other loss. No... what truly gets to me is the boredom."

And really, that's why Merlin was here in Northern Scotland despite the freezing temperatures and the not so pleasant company: boredom, and a desire to stop the buffoons of the world from screwing up while he wasn't paying attention.

Behind him, four voices bickered about anything and everything. Any statement by one of those four so called "great" wizards inevitably carried with it a polarized opinion from another of the four. Just weeks ago they were straightening out the bloody location of the school they were building.

"It should be located near many of the towns springing up over the countryside," Helga firmly stated. She was known for her desire to include everyone, after all.

"But that would take away from the mystery of the magic taught there- not to mention from the security of the place. We need somewhere we can ward impenetrable to both magicals and muggles." was Godric's argument. And who could blame him? When he brought up the Purge of sorcery under Uther's rule, it was hard to argue against.

Eventually, Merlin had made their decision for them. He wasn't _known_ to the founders per say, but they could easily sense his aura and presence, more so when he was annoyed at their constant arguments. It was always a background role for Merlin. Always had been really, thinking back to Arthur's rule. He was simply more comfortable pulling strings from the background, often nudging, sometimes pushing, and rarely shoving to get his way. Well, it was more the Old Magic's way than his, since it seemed to guide him along the path he was taking.

This was precisely one of those times, and he could just feel that these four were crucial to the future of magic. It was a different kind of magic that they practiced, weaker and safer. Good for cheap parlour tricks in Merlin's opinion, but he couldn't deny that it had its uses, especially for those without the necessary control to wield true magic.

There were few places untouched by the ravages of civilization, and Northern Scotland was one of those few. That is why Merlin had insisted the castle be built there and not in any other location. It was close enough to be accessible to most of England, yet remote enough to ward strongly. The fact that the very atmosphere of the place was roiling with the frustrations of magic only enhanced its appeal.

"Tuatha!" a voice called, interrupting his thoughts, "pay attention, we need you!" For the sake of his sanity and concealment, Merlin had used the name of his grandfather when he first contacted Salazar, Godric, Rowena, and Helga.

Rowena turned back to the other three after calling Merlin. "What exactly is the point of acceptance based on family? One's father has absolutely no bearing on the intelligence of that particular child in question"

Salazar sighed; this was an old argument, but it never had been fully resolved. "Two things. Firstly the family a child comes from will influence their early years of life, and thus _will_ have an influence on their intelligence. Secondly, this is a school not a charity. Those with magic already in their blood through family can pay, and those without cannot. Simply put, I'm not willing to house freeloaders!"

"What!? How is that even.. I don't believe you Salazar! We're rich enough, what does it even matter. If it means so much, they can work around the school or something."

"Ah Helga," thought Merlin, "blunt as always. I suppose I have to fix this now"

"Right," said Merlin. "This is pretty simple to resolve, stop arguing. Split the school into four distinct parts, each part based on one of you. That way, you can teach whoever you please, and you'll all be happy."

There was some further grumbling, but the suggestion was sensible after all. Not for the first time, Merlin wondered to himself, "what next...?"

**1002 CE**

Merlin made his way down the steps to the entrance of the Great Hall. He sometimes still couldn't believe the wonder that Hogwarts Castle had become. Though the topic was hotly debated among the four founders and himself, Merlin personally thought that the ambient magic in the air was affecting the castle in new and amazing ways.

Merlin had now been teaching the subject of _Wandless Enchantments and how to Break them_ to the upper years of Hogwarts. When the school first opened in 990 CE, there were a flocks of people who wanted to be educated there. Surprisingly enough, this included several non-magic users who simply wanted to learn _about _magic, even if they weren't able to practice it themselves. It was a novel idea in Merlin's opinion, and would certainly prevent some of the fear and strife that took place in Uther's time from ever taking place again.

_Wandless Enchantments_ was one of the many courses that Merlin had created himself. He based his tutiledge upon the many monastic schools that had sprung up, most notably the ones of the Carolingian Renaissance and Johannes Eriugena's scholastic practice. Instead of a set curriculum for the advanced classes, the teachers merely offered various sessions on their own personal expertise. That Merlin had so many areas of personal expertise led to a varied and diverse education both for himself and for his students.

Today, Merlin was working personally with one of his most promising students, Rhiannon, or Rhia. She had dark brown locks and pirecing hazel eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of one many years older. This and her humble roots strongly reminded Merlin of himself as a child. "Tuatha," she said, "what I don't understand is how to judge the candidates once they submit their names. Like what qualities are we looking for here? Bravery? Desire to win?"

As Rhia spoke, the two of them studied an intricately carved wooden chalice placed before them. Merlin had spent the past year carving it himself and it was strongly infused with his magic. Rhia and many others including the founders had added to it, strengthening its potency.

The chalice, or Goblet as it had come to be known, was to be an arbiter in competition between students of Hogwarts and other schools- a tournament of sorts. All in the interest of friendly camaraderie, of course, but testing England's mettle against her magical peers wasnt a bad thing either.

"The Goblet will measure strength of will and character, nothing more. Cursory knowledge before the tournament starts will be insignificant in comparison to knowledge learned from a dedication to win."

"And if a champion attempts to back out?"

"They will not. Those who do not have the will to compete will not be chosen in the first place."

"But in case?"

"Fine," agreed Merlin, albeit grudgingly. "A vow upon entry of the name will suffice, then. It will be enforced by the latent magic in the Goblet, and by Hogwarts herself."

And thus it was decided. The work on the Goblet would be finished soon, and preparations made- preparations for the first Triwizard tournament!

AN: Well there's the first chapter, thanks for sticking through. Any feedback would be appreciated, especially regarding integration of dialogue.. I've always thought I needed improvement on that :/. Also nitpicking and britpicking is appreciated!


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